


Dance of Blades

by Erberor



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Diamond & Pearl & Platinum | Pokemon Diamond Pearl Platinum Versions
Genre: Nuzlocke Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-15 22:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17537309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erberor/pseuds/Erberor
Summary: Decades ago, the rival nations on the continent of Sinnoh came to an accord after long years of conflict, and now as a celebration of that peace, however tenuous it may be, the nations hold the Dance of Blades, a tournament celebrating prowess in battle, and the art of the blade.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Dance of Blades, a story based on gameplay of Drayano's latest hack, Renegade Platinum. As one might expect, it expands and toughens the whole game, but I won't go into great detail here. What's important to know is that this isn't going to be easy.
> 
> Rules of the run  
> \- Any Pokemon that faints in battle is dead and can no longer be used  
> \- Only the first pokemon encountered in each area may be caught  
> \- Dupes Clause is on  
> \- Shiny Clause is on (note that I am using the version of Renegade Platinum with a substantially increased shiny rate)  
> \- Once a Pokemon enters the party it cannot leave it except through death.

“So, Damian, you really think you can beat me this time?” Erik said casually as we entered the clearing. He walked to the other side, and began to stretch.  
  
“Sure.” I said in a tone every bit as casual as his. Truth be told, I didn't. The fact of the matter is that he had far more combat training than I'd ever gotten working in my family's shop. It had been years since we were evenly matched.  
  
We'd known each other for most of our lives. We used to be just a couple of boys living the lives anyone might, but once Erik's father advanced far enough in the Dance of Blades to earn knighthood, his whole family became something close to lesser nobility. They may have lacked the lineage, but they had wealth, power, and prestige. All of which allowed Erik to start pursuing combat training in earnest while I wallowed behind a market counter.  
  
I stretched out a bit, and faced down Erik. He wore his characteristic wide grin, and short blonde hair that stuck up messily off his head. His dueling outfit far outdid my own, barely a scratch on it compared to the nightmare of patches and stitchwork I wore. I shook my head, clearing my mind. This was no time to get distracted. I took a deep breath, held out my hand, and called my sword.  
  
In a wave of blue light, a small arming sword materialized in my hand. It had a grey-blue sheen, almost as though it were covered in a thin layer of water, but otherwise, it was nothing to speak of. A simple blade, free of any adornment or decoration. I gave it a quick twirl, feeling the balance. It was perfect… It settled into my grip like it belonged there, as though it were made for my hands alone. And… In a manner of speaking, it was. The blade was soulforged, born from my own being.   
  
Every soul can manifest a weapon, each unique to its wielder. Many can call on more than one, and some believe they are the remnants of an age long past when humans bonded with  familiars, but the key is this: There is not a soul in the world that doesn't know the feel of a weapon in their hands.  
  
Across the clearing, I saw the last glimmers of green light as Erik's club came into being. It was simple, even more than my own weapon, but I knew that rough wooden bludgeon was more than capable of beating me silly. This was not our first sparring match, and certainly wouldn’t be our last. He set the club over his shoulder and stared me down, not dropping his grin for a second. We stood there for a silent moment, before Erik charged forward.  
  
He took a lunging swing that missed me by a fair margin, and followed it with a flurry of attacks that drew closer to hitting with every swing. I blocked the final blow with my sword and made to counterattack, but as I was starting the swing, Erik’s larger frame crashed into me, sending me careening backwards. He followed it up with a brutal swing to my chest that could have crushed bone, and my ribs exploded into something akin to pain, but in truth, it was more a knowing than a pain, a knowledge that I was injured and a numbness that was more uncomfortable than anything else.  
  
I grit my teeth and swung my leg out, catching Erik’s ankle. It wasn’t enough to trip him, but it threw him off, enough for me to land a large slash across his arm. Wisps of pale green light burst from the cut, and his hand went limp. He simply laughed. “Good hit!” He shouted as he dodged another cut. I was about to swing again, but I caught sight of something.   
  
We weren’t alone anymore.  
  
A tall man stood at the edge of the clearing, watching us sternly. He had white hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, and wore a fairly simple but clearly well tailored and richly dyed blue shirt. More striking than anything else was that he only had one arm. A brown half cloak covered his empty left shoulder, leaving only his right arm, which rested firmly on a rapier stowed at his hip.  
  
I froze when i saw him, and Erik quickly noticed as well. For a brief moment, we simply stared at him, before he suddenly walked up to me. He looked me over, and silently adjusted my footing, pushing and prodding me into what I found was a much more stable stance. I was too bewildered to object, and didn’t so much as blink when he corrected my sword grip as well. He stepped away, nodded, and did much the same with Erik. When he was done, he returned to the edge of the clearing and stood exactly as he had before. After a moment, he made a gesture and raised an eyebrow, saying as clearly as if he had shouted, “Well? Keep going. Don’t let me stop you.”  
  
I blinked and looked back to Erik, who was still dazed. I cracked a grin, and quickly thrust my sword at his exposed side. He saw me coming and tried to dodge, but it was too late. My sword cut straight through his shirt and deep into his side, spurting out great wisps of green aura. He doubled over, and my sword was at his head in an instant.  
  
The man watching us laughed, a deep and powerful sound that echoed through the woods. It was the first time I’d seen his mouth so much as move. “Not used to having an audience, are you, boy?” He said to Erik, who was now getting to his feet with my help. The man's expression suddenly turned serious again. “Never take your eyes off the battle. Good way to get yourself killed.”  
  
With that, the man simply turned and left. Erik and I looked at each other for a moment before shrugging it off and agreeing to meet there the next day. Maybe then we'd be able to have a proper fight. Still, I rubbed my victory in as much as I could, it wasn't often that I had them with him.  
  
As I walked back, I hobbled slightly, as my chest wound was still feeling rather numb. I wasn’t worried about it though - It was a wound of the soul, struck by a soulforged club. At worst, I would need to sleep it off. At best? I’d get full motion and feeling back in a couple hours. The soul is a hearty thing, bending, flowing, and mending where the body would simply break.  
  


* * *

  
The next day, we arrived at the same clearing only to find that the strange man from the day before was already there. He'd rolled a large rock out of the woods and was sitting on it, reading a small book. When we arrived, he wordlessly tucked the book into a pocket and began to watch us. Erik and I somewhat awkwardly got in position and started our fight.  
  
It was a short match, with Erik as the clear Victor. I nearly managed to get a good stab in once or twice, but didn't end up getting anything substantial. I was about to say I should go rest when I caught the man moving out of the corner of my eye. He reached into a pocket, pulled out a crumpled, dried root, and handed it to me. I looked at the shriveled thing and quickly recognized it as Aurum root, a potent medicine that quickly heals wounds of the soul like the blow to the head I'd gotten just a minute before. I was a little surprised, as the roots weren't exactly cheap. The small bit of it he'd handed me was only the size of my smallest finger, but it was still probably worth half a day's earnings for me.  
  
I looked at him, and he nodded. I bit down on the bitter root, chewed, and swallowed. Seconds after, I felt a rush of energy flow through me. The slight daze hanging over my head cleared, and the various other wounds I had received simply faded away. It was like waking up from a fantastic nap, the kind that leaves you feeling ready to take on the world.  
  
The man clapped me on the shoulder, though his face remained impassive. “Use his aggression against him.” He said quietly. “Draw him into exposing an opening and take it. Don’t hesitate.” He quickly made a couple adjustments to my posture and moved back to his seat.  
  
I nearly took the next round. I got in a clean blow that took out Erik’s good arm, but he quickly retrieved his club with his remaining hand, and ended up catching me off guard with his swift reaction.  
  
After the battle, the man once again pulled out some Aurum root, and handed a piece to each of us. He kept this up for four bouts in total, at which point I was feeling exhaustion set in deeper than medicine could reach, and called it a day.  
  


* * *

  
Over the next couple days, Erik and I kept returning to that clearing, and every time, we found the man waiting for us there. As curious as I was about who he was and what he was doing, I couldn’t quite bring myself to ask. Perhaps it was just how strange it all seemed, perhaps I was curious about what would happen if we just let him be.  
  
On the fourth day, he’d brought a bottle of red wine that he was quite willing to share. I personally didn’t care much for the flavor of wine, but looking at the bottle, I knew enough about the stuff to tell that it was rather expensive, and probably quite old. It was then that I couldn’t hold my curiosity any longer, and asked the man who he was.  
  
He took a sip of wine and looked me square in the eyes. “Edward Rowan, Earl of South Sindric.”  
  
All the color drained from my face. I had just spent the last three days regularly meeting with the Earl? This man owned most of the land from here to Jubilife! He was the man behind the tax collectors, the man behind the constables… The most powerful man in a hundred miles. I realized that I was just standing there dumbfounded, and took a bow. “My lord, I had no idea-” I started to stammer out an apology, but Rowan cut me off..  
  
“I didn’t come here to see you grovel.” He took another sip from his wooden cup. “I came to see you fight.”  
  
His words caught me completely off guard. I had always imagined him as having the same self-important attitude most of the nobility seem to have… It probably didn’t help that I’d really only ever seen him in a couple paintings, and those were of a much younger man. I had an image in my head, and it certainly did not match the man in front of me.  
  
I turned to Erik, and saw him having a somewhat similar reaction, but he was a fair bit less composed about himself, mouth slightly agape as he stared at Rowan. I muttered his name to grab his attention, and gestured to the clearing. It took a second to clue him in, but he got up and readied himself for battle.  
  
I think he wanted to impress Rowan with another victory, because he came at me with an aggression like a wildfire, tearing into me with his club. I immediately went on the defensive, jumping back at his assault, but he kept coming. I managed to land a couple blows in retaliation, but it seemed it was only a matter of time before he'd break through and crush me. So… I ran. Erik might have a good couple inches taller than me and stronger by a fair margin, but I'd always been the faster runner. I started sprinting through the woods around the clearing, getting some distance while I tried to come up with a plan. While I was running, I tripped slightly and bumped my head on a tree branch. It wasn't a serious blow, but it was enough to leave me feeling that distant sort of dazed. I staggered, but kept running, feeling a rising sense of desperation as I went.   
  
If I just had some way to hit him from a distance, a bow, even a spear, I might be able to do something, but all I had was my sword. Of course, who even knew if I'd be able to do anything with how dazed I still felt.  
  
As I ran… I started to feel something strange in my mind. It was like there was something rising out of a corner of my mind I wasn't entirely aware of before, but had always been there. It defined itself, setting itself apart from everything else in my mind. If I had to describe it, it was my desire to run, to be free among the trees and… Fly.  
  
I kept thinking harder on it, and suddenly, I felt the weight in my hand change. There was a wave of white light, and my familiar sword was gone, replaced by a small, simple hunting bow. It was utterly plain, save for a small etching of a wing near the grip. Acting on little more than instinct, I drew the string back, and an arrow materialized out of the same power that formed the bow itself. I turned, and fired.  
  
The heavy sound of the arrow landing in Erik's chest echoed through the woods. He immediately lost his balance and just about ran into the nearest tree. I nocked another arrow and made a point of aiming it at him. When he saw me ready to fire, he threw his arms up. “Alright, alright, you win. Not sure where you pulled that one from.”   
  
I helped him get his balance back, but when I turned back to the clearing, all I could see was Rowan sitting there, smiling broadly. The only other time I'd seen him smile was when he laughed on that first day, and this was clearly not an amused grin. No, it was a smile of deep satisfaction, though with what, I wasn't sure.  
  
We had to call off our sparring early that day, as I was needed back home, but before I left, Rowan stopped me and asked, “have you ever considered studying the blade?”  
  
I thought about it for a moment. Everyone dreams of truly studying battle, the position of knighthood was the highest honor almost anyone not already among the nobility could aspire to, but… I just didn't have the means to train in earnest. I nodded slowly, and said, “well… Yes, but… I've never had the opportunity.”  
  
“Yes… Of course.” Rowan said, looking out at the woods. “Your name is Damian, is it not?”  
  
I nodded. “At your disposal.” I almost added “my lord”, but stopped myself for some reason.  
  
Rowan nodded, and said I ought to get going. I gave him a short bow before I ran off.  
  


* * *

  
Rowan wasn't there the next day, or the next. Truth to be told, Erik and I wouldn't have been coming by every day if Rowan hadn't been there. Our mutual curiosity just kept us coming back. So, without him there, we went back to our normal routine, sparring every couple days, sometimes in the woods, sometimes at Erik's house. I tried calling out the bow again several times, but I couldn't ever get it consistently, and so little really changed about our fights.  
  
I tried to just forget about the Earl, but Rowan stuck in my mind regardless. The way he smiled at me hung in my memory so clearly… What had he been trying to say?  
  
It was a little more than a week before I heard from him again.  
  
I was tending the shop when a well dressed man stepped in. “I'm looking for Damian.” He said with some authority. When I told him my name, he handed me an envelope with the Earl's seal. I opened it carefully, and read the letter inside.  
  
  
 _Damian, son of Nathaniel of Twinleaf, is cordially invited to the estate of Edward Rowan, Earl of South Sindric, to facilitate his training in the art of battle._  
  
 _All expenses shall be covered by Lord Rowan's good will, and due compensation for labor lost will be arranged as needs may arise._  
  
 _It is the Earl's personal request that Damian be offered lodging within his estate until such a time as his training is seen to completion.  
_  
  
I stared at the letter in awe. Somewhat numbly, I noticed there was something else in the envelope, a piece of parchment wrapped around something heavy. I unwrapped it carefully, revealing two heavy silver coins worth more than I could save up in a month, and a note penned by Rowan himself.   
  
 _“I believe two marks ought to cover what transport you require. You have a spark, my boy, don't let it go to waste.”_  
  
My hands started to shake. I nearly dropped the letters and jumped in excited glee as the realization truly dawned on me…   
  
I was going to be a warrior.


	2. Remembering

I arrived at Lord Rowan's estate near the end of the day. I'd chosen to tag along with a trade Caravan headed through Sandgem rather than paying for carriages the whole way, so I arrived four days after his summons, rather than the two or three I might have managed if I'd spent most of Rowan's money on getting there.  
  
There was a part of me that felt bad about using part of his gift getting a nicer suit of clothes, but I didn't want to arrive at the Earl's doorstep wearing whatever shabby things I usually wore. No, I spent the better part of a silver mark on a green shirt and a pair of deep brown pants that I hoped looked good enough for whoever was watching the gates. Honestly, I was worried they might throw me out, summons in hand or no.  
  
I couldn’t help but think that Erik surely wasn’t worrying about this sort of thing when he arrived a couple days ago. He’d gotten an invitation much like I had, in fact, our letters were nearly identical, save for my smaller note from Rowan. He had offered to buy a ticket on a carriage with him, but I’d declined… It didn’t seem right given that I was already getting there on a gift from Rowan...  
  
Fortunately, I didn't run into any problems at the gates. The guards read my letter and called a servant, who escorted me to one of the guest houses.I would be staying there in one of the smaller rooms. It was rather lavish compared to what I was used to, but it was comfortable. I set about my meager belongings, doing what I could to make the space my own. It wasn’t much, a few old wood carvings of animals from my father that reminded me of home, a small steel knife, a couple sets of clothes, three jars of fruit preserves my mother gave me from our storeroom, and a letter from both my parents that they told me not to open until I’d been there at least a couple weeks. Beyond that, I had very little worth bringing along.  
  
Rowan himself dropped by after a couple hours to give me a tour around the estate. It was large beyond imagining to me. His mansion alone was larger than any building I had ever seen, and it wasn't even the only building there. There was an entire building for the servants’ quarters, a full barracks for the guards, an armory with a small blacksmith, three guest houses all larger than my shop back home, and what seemed like miles of garden trails. And then there was the training grounds. At the southeast corner of the estate the gardens gave way to a huge structure surrounding a field of packed dirt, where there were people training at all hours of the day.  
  
As we walked through the grounds, it became clear that I was stepping into another world. A world where food was brought steaming to my doorstep, a world where working for coin was a thing for the peasantry, a world where I had easy access to tailors, doctors and even arcanists, from simple menders who could repair clothing without needle or thread, to people capable of arcane feats I could only dream of.  
  
But more than that, it quickly became clear that it was a world in which I was not welcome. Almost everyone there was born into wealth, a member of the nobility in some capacity or another, whereas I was some country upstart without coin or title behind my name. I could see hints of their disdain in glances as they passed Rowan and I, but none of them said anything.  
  
Rowan's tour took longer than it ought to have, and I'll admit that I started growing impatient. I had spent the entire day walking already. It didn't help that every time we encountered someone, he made a point of formally introducing me as his guest… But it all became clear when we got back to my room.  
  
“By noon tomorrow, everyone in the estate will know who you are.” Rowan said when we arrived. “Give or take a few hours. Depends on how soon Larson hears about it, that man is an insufferable gossip.”  
  
I looked at him, slightly stunned. I did  **not**  want to draw attention to myself.  
  
Rowan must have noticed my discomfort, because he quickly explained. “Better to have all the gentry gossiping about the Earl's new guest, than spreading word far and wide of some hoodlum bunking on old Rowan's estate.” He said calmly. “Around here, rumors will spread one way or the other. Best to take them into your own hands.”  
  


* * *

  
The next morning, a tailor arrived at my door and took my measurements with silent, professional efficiency. After a moment's thought, he removed a set of carefully folded clothes and handed them to me. “The fit isn’t perfect, but it'll do until I can have something fitted for you.” He said. “Now get those on and head for the training grounds, the Earl is expecting you.” I put the clothes on and they fit about as well as I could have hoped for, really. They were dueling clothes, simple and tough, but a damn sight nicer than what I’d brought with me. I put them on and made for the training grounds.  
  
Rowan was waiting for me by the entrance, standing tall and proud as he always did. He called me over and started explaining what I was to be doing for my training. The schedule was quite strict. General exercises first thing in the morning, followed by stance and form drills. Then sparring with the other trainees for the better part of the day, interspersed with individual tutoring as the instructors saw fit. Lunch would be brought to the grounds at noon, with a half hour break for the meal.  
  
As I watched the proceedings, I spotted Erik among the rows of students, probably nineteen of them in all, and nearly waved before I realized I shouldn’t interrupt training like that. We’d have time to say hello later.  
  
I was brought to the side and taught the basics of the drills, then sparred for several hours against a dozen other students, most of whom beat me rather soundly. I like to think that I put up a good fight, and I even managed to beat a couple of them, but I could tell that I was outclassed.  
  
Every now and again, I had to have my shirt patched up by one of a few arcanists that were on standby for exactly that purpose. As I watched one of them mending my shirt, making it as though it were new again, I asked him how exactly it worked. He looked at me for a moment, clearly trying to judge how simple his explanation would have to be, before nodding slightly. “I suppose I could try to explain.” He said slowly. He bent down and found a loose bit of tinder from the nearby fire. “The simplest way to understand mending is that once something is a part of a whole, it sort of… Remembers how it was.” He snapped the small piece of wood in his hands. “All I’m doing is reminding it of this previous state, and providing the energy required to return it.” He pointed at the fire behind him. “I can draw heat from the fire, and with that energy, I can simply…” He brought the broken pieces wood together, spoke some unfamiliar words, and the two pieces slowly knit themselves back together. I noticed that the fire dimmed slightly as he did all that, and started to piece together what was happening. “And that’s the simplest I can put it. There’s much more to it, but it would take hours to get into, and-” One of the instructors shouted at me to get back to sparring, and I excused myself. I think I understood magic a little better after that. At least, some small piece of it.  
  
Come lunchtime, I was exhausted. This level of physical activity was well beyond what I was used to. I took my lunch and sat by Erik, the only familiar face there, and nearly collapsed just trying to sit down. Erik steadied me, and asked if I was alright. “I feel like I’m about to collapse,” I told him. “This is just… I’ve never fought so much before.” I looked down at the bread in my hands, still warm from the ovens. “I don’t know if I can do this…” I muttered under my breath  
  
Erik clapped me on the back, and gave me a friendly smile. “Oh, you’ll make it. Takes some getting used to, but you’ll get there. Soon you’ll be up to speed and nobody will be able to stop us!” He grabbed me and threw his arm in front of him, “the peerless Twinleaf warriors, brave, strong, and dashing! Word of our prowess will sweep across Sinnoh like wildfire, and the world will know our names as sure as the sun rises!” He laughed, and I couldn’t help but chuckle along with him. I was glad I still had him around.  
  
Rowan pulled me aside after I ate, into one of many small training rooms. He stood there for a moment, and I figured he was waiting for me to ask him something, so… I asked the question that had been hovering on my mind for nearly a week. “Lord Rowan… Why did you call me here?” I still didn’t understand what he saw in me. Erik made sense, he was a great fighter, and the son of a knight, but me? I was nobody.  
  
He looked at me for a solid minute before asking me a question. “Did you ever call that bow before you did in that last match I watched?”  
  
I recalled summoning the small hunting bow in my match with Erik. I hadn’t ever seen the thing before. “No.”  
  
“I thought as much. You get an eye for that sort of thing, fighting as much as I have.” He rolled his empty shoulder slightly as he said that, “brighter flash of light, slower materialization. More than that, there’s the look in the eyes… An impossible combination of surprise and deep knowing. Like looking at a friend you’ve forgotten until just that moment.” He went quiet for a moment. “You called that bow for the first time not in peace or after contemplation, but in a time of need. Without training or guidance. That is quite something, my boy. Most students take months of tutoring before they can conjure a second weapon. With proper instruction, you might be able to manage a third before a single month passes, if I’m any judge of ability.” He flashed a tiny smile. “And I am an excellent judge of ability”  
  
“That was the only time I’ve ever called it, my lord. I… I’ve tried since then, but-”  
  
He waved my comment aside. “You’ve already found the door, you need only remember how to open it. I will help you…  _If_  you are willing to see your potential realized.” His last words were as much a challenge as a question, and I felt a part of me flash with determination as he said them. I nodded, and we began.  
  


* * *

  
“Every weapon you can conjure is representative of an aspect of the self.” Rowan started to explain, “The key to summoning a weapon lies in finding and focusing on the part of yourself that weapon represents. Tell me, what was going through your mind when you called the bow?”  
  
I thought back, and started to piece together my thoughts. Being dazed after hitting my head on a branch, the feeling of desperation, and… The thrill of running. I kept coming back to the exhilaration of speed the more that I thought about calling the bow, and I wasn’t even sure that was what I was feeling at the time.  
  
I mentioned this, and Rowan told me to take hold of that thought. Keep exploring it, find its core. For the next hour, I stood there, trying to figure out what lay at the heart of that rush. I even tried running around the room to try and capture it again, but I wasn’t able to pin it down. Rowan finally declared, “We’ll meet again tomorrow, same time. See if we can’t puzzle this one out with a bit more thought.”  
  


* * *

  
Several days later, I was running through the woods a few miles from Rowan’s estate. I ducked under branches and jumped over underbrush as I went, all the while trying to find that feeling. After a couple sessions of tutoring with Rowan, I had suggested that I try to recreate the moment by running through the woods instead of sitting in an empty room, and he thought it was a good idea. After he gave me leave to step out of training for the day, I made my way to the sparse forest north of the estate, and started to run.  
  
I didn’t spend the whole day sprinting, though. Far from it. As much as I wanted to figure out how to summon my bow, I was exhausted from the days of training I’d been through, and I took the day alone as an opportunity to put my feet up a little and rest. In between bouts of running, of course.  
  
Running brought me closer to finding the answer than anything else had. I felt the rush, the thrill of speed, and more importantly the freedom of dashing through the wilds without a care, but even then, there was something missing. For most of the day, I agonized over what I could be overlooking, but it wasn’t until late afternoon that I finally figured it out. I was sitting on a fallen log, eating the last of the bread I’d brought, when a small bird caught my eye. It darted through the air, chasing something I couldn’t see, or else just flying without a care in the world… And then it struck me.  
  
Flying. That was the key. I shoved the rest of the bread into my mouth and started to run once more, but this time, I tried to focus not on running, but on a deep, primal desire to fly.  
  
It was like opening a lock in my mind, everything just slid into place. I opened a door for the second time into a part of myself that had always been there, and felt it- the bow. I focused on it, and called it to my hands.  
  
There was a flash of white light, and the bow appeared in my hand. As it came into being, I heard, no… I felt a name in my mind. From the moment it surfaced, it blazed like a fire, and I knew it belonged to the weapon in my hands. “Skycaster,” I said quietly. As I spoke its name, the bow shifted slightly. More detailed carvings appeared on the wood along with the wing inscription- sweeping lines like wind, and feathers drifting upon it.   
  
For the barest moment, I stared in awe at the bow in my hands. Then, I grinned like a child, and shouted to all the wilderness, “I found it!”   
  
I turned the bow over in my hands, carefully examining the carvings. I had just stumbled on the core of Skycaster so clearly that I’d not only called it, I found its true name as well. Every weapon has a name, deep inside it, and finding that name draws out its deeper power. I hadn’t even found the name of my sword In the five years since I first called it, but I’d been able to learn Skycaster’s in a matter of weeks.  
  
Still unable to suppress my broad smile, I started running back to the estate, a spring in my step and a soaring joy in my heart.


End file.
